


Fly Away, My Angel

by GEGabriels



Series: G.E.Gabriels' Les Mis Sickfics [15]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Fever, Gen, Grantaire is a Good Boyfriend (Les Misérables), Illnesses, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GEGabriels/pseuds/GEGabriels
Summary: "You're burning up with fever," He says, Enjolras rolling over onto to his side,"Cold," He simply replies. And he is. He feels as if it is the middle of winter instead of the middle of summer. He thinks, for a moment, "Where's Combeferre? And Courfeyrac," He asks, Grantaire giving him a concerned look,"Combeferre's gone to fetch a doctor," He informs.A nice Canon-Era sickfic :) .
Relationships: Combeferre & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: G.E.Gabriels' Les Mis Sickfics [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896514
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	Fly Away, My Angel

Enjolras pries open his eyes, frowning. Where is he? Why does he feel hot, and sticky? He opens his mouth, to try and say something, instead only letting out a hoarse rasp. He has lost his voice. He coughs a few times, trying to clear out the mucus he feels in his throat. He tries to speak again, this time succeeding, and letting out a weak,

"C-Combeferre? Courfeyrac?" No one answers, and Enjolras buries his head in his pillow, feeling too weak to get up and look for his friends. He knew they must be in their living quarters, somewhere. They would never leave his side if he was ill, which he had concluded he was, if his aching chest, burning throat, and throbbing head were anything to go off of. All of the sudden, another person walks into the room. Enjolras sits up, to face them,

"Combeferre?" He whispers, knowing that it must be Combeferre, because Combeferre would never leave. The man in question frowns, and walks over. He is not Combeferre. Enjolras' spinning mind can't exactly pinpoint his identity. His vision is blurry. The man gives a bitter laugh, gently touching the side of Enjolras' face,

"It's Grantaire, Enjolras," He whispers, Enjolras frowning.

"Grantaire," He repeats, letting out a small cry of pain, as his stomach twinges. Grantaire sighed,

"You're burning up with fever," He says, Enjolras rolling over onto to his side,

"Cold," He simply replies. And he is. He feels as if it is the middle of winter instead of the middle of summer. He thinks, for a moment, "Where's Combeferre? And Courfeyrac," He asks, Grantaire giving him a concerned look,

"Combeferre's gone to fetch a doctor," He informs, Enjolras shaking his head,

"No doctor. I will be... Fine..." He insists, clearing his throat, and attempting to get out of bed. Grantaire pushes him back down, shaking his head,

"You're much too weak to do so much as move, Angel," He says, Enjolras frowning,

"Why do you always call me that?" He enquires, Grantaire giving him a light smile, and smoothing a finger over the white blankets that were covering the love of his life.

"Because you are one. An angel on Earth, sent to tell us mortals how to do things right. Your ethereal golden curls are a halo around your head, of which is close to spilling with revolutionary fervour. And actual fever, right now," Enjolras doesn't take in a single word Grantaire says, but the sound of his voice is comforting, and Enjolras is content to listen to him ramble on, only stopping once to lean over the side of his bed and vomit. Soon, there are more noises, and Enjolras folds his hands onto his chest, looking up, as Combeferre makes his way into the room. There's a person he knows. A person full of comfort. He holds out his arms to Combeferre, and Combeferre embraces him. Enjolras is confused, and in pain, as he listens to the new people enter his room, one of which he thinks is a doctor.

_"He's delirious."_

_"Burning up..."_

_"Bleed him..."_

There is a pain in his arm, and he tries to object, tossing his head back and forth on his pillow, whimpering. Combeferre's hand cups his face, and he can hear Combeferre's soft words, even if they don't register properly in his brain,

" _I know, I know. Just hang in there, the doctor will be done soon. Be still, Enjolras_."

Enjolras lays in bed, as the doctor bandages his arm, recounting the past few days. He had started feeling ill at the beginning of the week, and had been desperate to power through it, but Combeferre, dear Combeferre, had forced him into bed. He had felt awful the next day, and just as bad the day after that. And he had woken up in agony this morning. Everything in his mind is dull, and his thoughts are muddled. His vision is blurry as well. The only things that make sense to him are the grounding voices of Combeferre and Grantaire.

Slowly, he falls back asleep, seeing it as the only reliever of the pain he feels in every bone of his body.

When he wakes up later, it's to a hand rather rudely tapping him. Combeferre shoves a spoonful of foul tasting medicine into his mouth, and he instinctively swallows, only to vomit it back up in a matter of minutes. Combeferre's gentle hands run through Enjolras' golden curls, and Enjolras coughs loudly, each cough causing a sharper pain in his chest than the next. He sleeps, once more, and when he wakes up, there is Grantaire, sitting across from him again. Enjolras blinks, his head feeling clearer than before.

"Grantaire? What happened?" He demands, Grantaire holding a cup of water to his lips, and Enjolras taking a few quick sips from it, relishing the relief it temporarily brings to his aching throat, and wincing at the pain swallowing causes. Grantaire smiles at him, looking up from whatever he was sketching on what looked to be a piece of cloth.

"Hey. Your fever's gone down," Grantaire says, looking relieved, "Once you're well again, I think I'll paint a picture of you, what do you think?" Grantaire asks, Enjolras smiling,

"I'd like that," He coughs painfully into the crook of his elbow, laying his head against the pillows of his bed in sheer exhaustion.

"When will I be well?" Enjolras questions, Grantaire stroking a hand across his cheek,

"Soon, my love," He replies, Enjolras nodding, thinking, for a moment,

"Grantaire... What are we?" Enjolras suddenly asks, Grantaire thinking for a second,

"We are just as man and wife, only man and man," He replies, "Combeferre is Christian enough, he could marry us, hm?" He says, Enjolras letting out a short laugh,

"That's not how it works," He replies, Grantaire smirking,

"We make our own rules, my dearest. We are wild."

The next week or so blurs by, for Enjolras. At some point, they go to a house that Combeferre's family owns in the countryside. Combeferre believes that the fresh air will truly make Enjolras well. Grantaire comes too. Combeferre is desperately trying to reach out to Courfeyrac, who is off visiting Jehan and his family.

The journey to the countryside is easy. Enjolras doesn't remember any of it as he spent most of his time asleep, his head on Combeferre's lap. The bed is soft, and Enjolras doesn't mind the change of scenery, though he does miss his other friends, of whom had been constant visitors since he'd first taken ill. Combeferre walks into the room, or at least, Enjolras thinked the blurry figure he sees looks like Combeferre.

"Combeferre?" He calls, and Combeferre quickly answers,

"Hello." He wraps his arms around Enjolras, and Enjolras sighs contentedly, leaning his head into Combeferre's chest. Combeferre's facial expression changes, and Enjolras' can't exactly make it out. He can make out the tears that fall down Combeferre's cheeks, however. Enjolras reaches out his trembling hand, and wipes the tears away, confused. Why would Combeferre be crying? That particular day was a glorious, gorgeous day, as sunlight had come to dance over Enjolras' blankets from the window.

"Don't cry," Enjolras whispers Combeferre sniffling, and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand,

"You're being nice. You're delirious," Combeferre whispers, Enjolras shrugging. Combeferre sucks in a breath, gently touching Enjolras' shoulder, as if he's afraid Enjolras is fragile glass, that will break at one tap.

"I've failed you, I'm sorry," Combeferre cries, Enjolras frowning, and patting his best friend's shoulder, "You're my baby brother, I'm supposed to protect you from everything, and I've failed." Enjolras blinks,

"Do not cry," He attempts to console Combeferre, "Today was a good day. The sun came out to greet me." Combeferre stares at Enjolras for a long second, after he says that, before beginning to cry harder. And that's how Grantaire finds them. The usually stoic Combeferre in tears, and the usually serious Enjolras giving the sunlight on his bed a delighted look.

The next day, he awakens to darkness. He does not panic. He could barely see anything before. Seeing nothing now is not a far adjustment. Every breath he takes is sharp, and he does he best to refuse the food Combeferre offers, as his throat is too swollen and sore to swallow with. The rest of the Les Amis come. They line up at his bedside, and say words to him. He can no longer make out the meaning of words, most of the time. But he listens to their voices, squeezes their hands. And then they leave.

Enjolras awakes one day early. It's dawn, he thinks, if the roosters crow from the nearby farm is correctly timed. There are footsteps in the doorway, and he knows it's Grantaire, as he smells old paint, and boots. He does not greet him. It hurts to much to move. Grantaire takes his hand, and Enjolras uses the last ounce of energy in his body to run his thumb along Grantaire's large, rough, comforting hand. They are silent, for a second, and Grantaire must be crying a lot, as Enjolras hears his ragged breaths, and feels Grantaire's tears drip down onto Enjolras' arms.

"... What of the people?" Enjolras finally whispers. His voice is gone, after that. Grantaire leans his head into Enjolras' chest,

"There will be other revolutionaries. There will never be another one of you, my love," He says, and he stands, delicately picking Enjolras up, cradling him in his arms as one would an infant. Enjolras has refused food for a week. He's extremely light. Grantaire carries him out of the house, which Enjolras knows as he gets a breath of summer air, soon after exiting. There is a stream, near the house, and Grantaire dips Enjolras' feet into it, Enjolras liking the feeling of the cool water brushing against his feet. Grantaire then sits down in the grass, Enjolras, who is on his chest, positioned so his back faces the new morning sunlight, and he can enjoy the warm sensation.

Enjolras can feel himself slipping. His eyelids are growing heavier, and his breaths lighter. But he fights. He must. He has the people to think of. Grantaire rubs his back.

"It's okay. It's _okay_ ," He soothes, "I love you so much. Combeferre and Courfeyrac love you. You are so loved." Enjolras still struggles, letting out a soft cry, his only way of communication, as the words no longer form in his throat.

"The fight for freedom will continue," Grantaire whispers, "You've done so well, love. You have been such a light." Enjolras begins to relax.

"Leave behind this pain, this agony. Be free. Fly away, my angel."

And Enjolras' spirit flies away, just as his body goes limp in Grantaire's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame teenage hormones for this.


End file.
